


Renegades

by bathandbodyworks



Series: Renegades of Legend [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Powers, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, The Batfam has powers, some are good some are definitely NOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:48:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bathandbodyworks/pseuds/bathandbodyworks
Summary: No one in the batfamily is ordinary.Born and cursed with superhuman powers, they find some way to make it work.





	Renegades

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! Here’s an AU where the batfamily all have superpowers. They aren’t all equally powerfully, and some powers are definitely more useful than others. This is in a series, and hope you all enjoy it!

The moment Bruce’s parents hit the pavement was the moment he knew that he was different.

The rush of _you want to hurt, you have to hurt, you need to hurt_ he’d been feeling all his life finally pushed through the last barrier of his mind, and he dropped to the ground with a wail, barely noticing as the mugger ran past him.

The ache in is heart hurt so much, too much, and he swore it was what was pulling him down to the ground, forcing his knees to the concrete like magnets. Except, when he was under the police blanket, barely noticing the flashing lights and whirring noises just floating in the background of his mind, he felt something cold and hard resting in his hands. Through his tears he dared a glance at his hands as he pulled them out from under the blankets, and dropped the sharp, bat shaped figure that fit perfectly in his hands, watching as it faded from existence as it struck the ground. 

He had been terrified of bats for as long as he could remember, and he couldn’t fathom where the bat shaped figure could have come from. But every time his heart ached and the tears welled behind his eyes, another sharp, cold bat appeared in his hands, and it was a very long time before he found a reason to use them. 

_The power to create weapons out of pain._  
————————-

Dick doesn’t remember the day it first began, or how. He just knows it’s something he’s had as long as he could remember, and it’s always been so much more of a curse than a gift. 

He grew up around a campfire listening to stories of witches with amazing powers, that could create fires, or run as fast as the wind, or sometimes even _fly_. 

The stories all the had same moral, that the witches were blessed and had saved his people. But his mom and dad had always drilled into his head that no one else could know the witches existed, that although they were special among his people, they were feared and hated everywhere else. 

None of the witches were ever anything quite like him. They could control their abilities, do awe inspiring things with them that saved their village and became the stuff of legends. 

None of them hurt everything they touched.

Dick doesn’t think he’s touched his parents with bare skin since he was a toddler, not since his body began oozing poison at random. He’s always known when it’s about to happen, when the clear liquid will pour out of his skin, when the blue of his eyes slowly spread out of their iris, and his body shake so hard it hurts. 

He contaminates everything he touches, and he’s terrified that one day he’s going to shake a bare hand, and they’re never going to breathe again.

 _The power to generate poison through the skin._  
———————-

Jason’s mom had always said he was special, and he figures he’ll never know if she meant it like this. 

He dipped his hand in the filthy Gotham river, watching in awe as the water spiraled around his hand, suddenly clean and pure.

He lowered his hand, marveling in how the water traced the outlines of his too-small sneakers, washing off the dirt in one fluid motion. He raised his hand to his head, pushing back his hair before he realized what he was doing, and laughing lightly as the water dripped down his face. 

He toyed with his ability in his room, creating patterns in the air with water he had originally placed in a cup. 

He learned that if he concentrated real hard, he could make the water pour from the palm of his hand, and sometimes he absentmindedly watched it drip from his fingertips when he was bored. 

He couldn’t control it all the time though, and he shrieked in surprise when water starting leaking from his pores as he recovered in bed from the flu. He tucked his blanket up and over his head as his dad yelled at him to quiet down, and tried his best to stop the flow before they drowned him. 

Eventually, the water stopped pouring from his face, and Jason still wonders what would happen if it began pouring and never stopped. 

_The power to create and manipulate water._

—————————

It’s been a very long time since Tim slept. He would say days, but it’s more like years. 

Years of staring at a dark ceiling, waiting for time to pass and for the day that he’ll close his eyes and _finally rest,_ but he grows increasingly doubtful that the day will ever come as years of restlessness roll by. 

People have said he’s smart, that he gets it from his parents, but he’s almost completely sure that it comes from the hours he’s spent pouring over useless facts in the dead of the night. 

The first time he put someone to sleep was also the day he slept for the last time. He had reached over, accidentally smacking his father’s wrist with his palm as reached for a playing card, and his father had dropped his head to the table, sleep instantly overtaking him. 

Tim had tried to wake his father, afraid that he’d fainted or hit his head, or maybe even died, but when his father finally awoke hours later, he lifted his head up and continued the game as if nothing had even happened. 

Tim likes to think that his father didn’t notice the tear tracks down his face and his puffy, red eyes, that it was just the sudden sleep, but he knows better. He’s had a lot of restless night since then to think about it. 

_The power to put others to sleep with a touch, with the inability to sleep._

———————-

Cassandra has always liked the night. She liked the powerful feeling that accompanied it, the feeling of not being empty. The feeling of being in control. 

The darkness had talked to her since she was very young, and she’s proud to say that the shadows that fill the corners of a room were her first friends. 

When the shadows talk to her, they sent her hints. They tell her what’s coming, and what others mean by what they say. They let her know what’s happening behind the mean man’s back, that the thing he’s holding is intended not to help her, but to hurt her. 

She likes the way the shadows surround her, bending to her will as they sing songs in her ear. She likes the way they cover someone’s eyes as they whisper reassurances to her, and how they always seem to know what the best choice is. 

She gets that some people are scared of the shadows, and she knows it’s not her place to understand why. Maybe she’ll never understand why the shadows only seem to want to talk to her, and why they won’t help that crying little girl she saw sitting on a street corner. 

But the shadows do care for her, and they’re the one and only thing she’s in control of, and everyday she relishes in the feeling of finally having power. 

_The power to manipulate and speak to darkness._

————————

Damian fully knows that what he can do is useless, that it will never have combat applications when he’s actually fighting or serve any purpose other than for minor entertainment.

But that doesn’t stop him from doodling a small cat and watching with tired eyes as it bursts from the page of his sketch pad and starts to leap and meow all over the place. 

His mother will probably make him dispose of it later, so he doesn’t bother naming it, although he supposed there’s no harm in enjoying the company that cat can provide in the moment. 

He motions for the cat to crawl over onto his lap, and he pats it’s head as it stretches out, Damian grabs his sketch pad, taking his time as he creates a beautifully elegant sword that could rival some of the swords his grandfather had made in the days of old, and he places it behind him for future use. Probably to kill the cat, he thinks truthfully. 

He isn’t proud of his strange ability, per se, but he can’t say that it doesn’t bring him amusement at times. He’s fully aware of how useless his mother and grandfather insist it is, and he gets that, he does, but he’s proud to be talented in a way that his mother and grandfather aren’t. He’s already on his way to someday besting them. 

One day, when a sword he drew is pointed at their throats, they’ll understand. He’s just waiting for the right kind of inspiration.

_The power to bring drawing and artworks to life._

—————————————————————

**Author's Note:**

> So here’s the whole fam’s powers, and more works are definitely to come. 
> 
> This is inspired by the book ‘Renegades’, which I’ve never actually read. I just picked random powers from the first page of the book and assigned them to a random member of the family!
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and/or kudos! 
> 
> If you want to ask questions about this or any of my other works, here’s my tumblr
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bedbathandbodyworks
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! I know a bunch of you are waiting for updates on my other stories, but I’m trying to get inspiration for them through this??? So, yeah.


End file.
